


Blood, Dust and everything between

by Anonymous



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Deamon AU, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Patricide, Slade Wilson needs a hug, Slade's dad was a bad man, That one time Slade's dad sold him to the mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Daemon Au - Slade Wilson never believed in destiny and fate or whatever other words you used to describe a future that wasn’t of your own making. After all it wasn’t destiny that made them live in their tiny shit hole cabin. It wasn’t fate that stuffed him in the storage shed.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson, Slade Wilson/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37
Collections: Fanfic Anonymous





	Blood, Dust and everything between

Slade Wilson never believed in destiny and fate or whatever other words you used to describe a future that wasn’t of your own making. After all it wasn’t destiny that made them live in their tiny shithole cabin. It wasn’t fate that stuffed him in the storage shed.

Mom did her best. She loved her garden, she loved their beat-up radio and she loved her him; loved him with the fierce determination of a woman who had nothing else left to love. After Charlie beat them his mother would lay on his small twin bed to read to him, her dæmon a silent watcher over them. She’d hold him tight running her fingers through his blonde hair, with Wendy curled against his chest as she'd read him her beat up leather bible.

He doesn't cry for her, even though he still remembers her daemon’s sharp scream as his father’s hand came down, the loud crack that followed and the gold dust covering him as his mother’s silent nightingale turned to dust, a wing he’d never used spread over Slade’s head. His mother’s neck bent the wrong way. His father’s hands reaching for him, dragging him back out to the snow covered shack to lock him in while he ‘figured this out’.

When Charlie takes him on a ride for a meeting with his ‘friends’ Slade clings to his deamon like the stuffed toy Charlie (not dad, never dad again) tossed out last week. When Charlie shoves him into their arms, Slade fights and screams until a sharp canine muzzle yanks his deamon up and away from him. Agony ripping through his soul, violating him in a way he would never be able to explain. 

He screams in pain reaching for the man he once called father the one that use to swing him in the air and whistle ridiculous tunes with him. The one that use to be a father.

Wendy stops changing into birds, dropping the bright feathered forms she’d spent the first nine years of his life showing off and starts to settle. She settles in the form of a slender fox, with fur as red as his mother’s hair and coal black eyes. The men look at him unsettled. Whispering that it was no wonder his father gave him away, who’d want such an ill-omened child anyway.

He meets Franny while he’s ‘working’, mostly naked across little Jimmy’s lap, while Boss works out a deal with her for information. Charlie brought her in, if his hand on her waist and half hidden bruise across her wrist is any indication. Her bull dog daemon sits sleeping at her heels, unlike Wendy locked in Rick’s big bear daemon's jaws, a silent chew toy. Franny sits quietly beside Charlie, face almost happy as Charlie introduces her. Slade doesn’t get to look for long little Jimmy has better uses for his face.

One day years later he’s leaning painfully on Franny. Franny’s covered in bruises and her deamon is thinner and even more angry looking then it was the night they meant. Franny tucks Charlie’s bastard in the backseat of a stolen ford and drives. Like Slade didn’t just stab Charlie to death, like he isn’t covered in DUST and blood again. The packet of information he stole for her tucked down her shirt.

He cleans up in a tiny gas station just outside of Norfolk. One of Charlie’s cops, a dirty and corrupt asshole that use to ‘pay’ for him pins him up against the wall gun shoved under his chin. He hates the feeling of the hands on him, always fucking has, probably always will. Frannie shoots the asshat in the back of the head and they run some more.

He never really stops running. Even after leaving Franny and joining the army. He still feels the gold dust and blood against his skin.


End file.
